


Drabble

by crowleyshouseplant (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:38:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crowleyshouseplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruby finds a moment of refuge</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabble

Ruby sleeps beside Sam, hand over her stomach, thumb nail trailing around her belly button. She can’t sleep.

Her mouth tastes like sulfur-soaked cotton balls even though she’s washed it out with Listerine.

She wonders if the previous owner of this body ever had that same problem. Even though the soul’s gone, whispers of her are still there.

She wonders what Sam would think if she ever told him that there were still bits of Kris fluttering about, Kris eating waffles clinging like cobwebs across the dome of her skull, Kris murmuring  _easy, easy_  in the spaces between her ears, reverberating against those tiny, fragile bones, how their hearts jump with adrenaline with the same rhythm.

Ruby wonders if she should say that there is more to a person than a soul. But then he would look at her, brows in disappointed angles, lips pinched closed, until he asked her some bullshit question about which bits of her had dropped off in hell.

She gets up, and Sam sleeps. She shrugs into the leather jacket that doesn’t smell like her even though she’s worn it for months. Gets in her yellow mustang and goes down the highway full throttle until she finds the herd of horses they passed by on their way into town.

They whicker softly as she vaults over the fence. There’s manure and horse sweat in the air, but it smells good like the dirt crunching under her feet feels good. The horses shy away from her—maybe they can smell the fire that used to lick her skin, shearing off the flesh and the bone until nothing remained but the raw nub of her soul—maybe it was the smell of sulphur, the yellow dust that she kicked off her heels wherever she went.

One of them doesn’t though. One of them approaches her, ears swiveling, body tense and muscles rippling. She holds out her hand, lets her stiff lips brush her palm, the delicate velvet of her nostrils snuffling her flesh. 

She lets Ruby stroke her neck, lingering over her withers, then her flanks.  “Wanna go for a ride?” she says, softly.

The mare whickers. 

Ruby feels hot in this body, like fire is trapped inside her skin like hell would always be there, no matter how high she climbed, no matter how much dirt she got under her fingernails clawing herself out.

She shrugs out of the jacket, pulls off her boots and her socks. Lifts up the hem of her shirt, tugs it off.  Let’s her eyes flood black because she’s too tired to keep it at bay, the way the shadow of her soul pushes against flesh walls and wet translucent panes of her eyes. She unsnaps the button of her jeans, slips her hands under the elastic of her underwear, cups herself, remembering when she had had a body that was hers, a body that had made demon deals and practiced witch craft, a body where she tucked her penis between her legs. 

She shucks her underwear, feels the cool kiss of the breeze in the space between her thighs.

She had thought it would have been better, in a body shaped liked this.

But it’s still not hers, not really.

Out of a body, the wind blows her like dandelion seeds. But she can’t speak. She can’t touch.

Can’t ride.

Not like this.

Ruby vaults onto the horses back. They’re both warm, too warm, as they walk then trot then break into a gallop. She moves her body with the weight and shift of the mare beneath.

She lifts her arms, sucks in her chest high, neck arching backwards, and eyes closed, until she feels herself slip from the horse’s back, and she tumbles until the ground catches her hard (just like Kris taught her to), jarring her bones and slamming the breath she doesn’t need out of her lungs, the entire earth spinning around her until the horse comes back, snuffles her face, licks her nose and her mouth until she can’t stop laughing.


End file.
